


Drive Me Home

by Racethewind_10



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Bering and Wells Christmas Exchange, F/F, Fix-It, Fluff, Future Fic, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It didn't stick though, Light Angst, snowy fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5522522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Racethewind_10/pseuds/Racethewind_10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once out of town and headed east the streetlights grow sparse and stop, the world narrowing down to the width of the headlights, angular beams cutting through the night. The snow eases somewhat after half an hour and Myka feels her shoulders relax. There’s something about night drives – a silence, an emptiness to the world – everything falls away but the road. Helena’s hand rests, palm up, on the console between them and Myka takes it, keeps her eyes on the road, and settles in for the trip, the warmth of the hand in hers an anchor in this world of ever-shifting white and cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive Me Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amtrak12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amtrak12/gifts).



> For amtrak12, Merry Christmas!

Giant white flakes drift lazily down to earth - the clouds so low that with the sun gone there doesn’t seem to be any sky at all, just never ending snowfall. The weather channel predicted at least 6 inches tonight and Myka’s glad Steve took the SUV in and put snow tires on it last week. The chains are in the back but she’s hoping they can beat the worst of the snow home. 

Just hours away from Christmas, the Rapid City airport at midnight is nearly empty, the slow stream of people departing, taking cars away with them until only a handful remain in the parking lot, gathering toppings of snow. Myka is just about to check her phone again when a familiar silhouette emerges from the double doors, striding beyond the awning and into the snowfall. Myka smiles and starts the engine.

Helena slips into the car on a blast of bitter, icy air and a flurry of snowflakes, many of which are caught in her hair, glinting white in the low overhead dome light and then fading as they melt.  There’s a touch of silver at Helena’s temples that doesn’t melt to sable and the fine lines at the corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiles but the sparkle in her eyes is as warm as ever.

“Mission completed,” she grins, settling her briefcase and bag in the back seat and shrugging out of her coat with far more grace than should be possible for someone in the front seat of a car.  And then, because she’s still H.G. Wells and knows damn well it still makes Myka’s mouth dry after all these years, she grins and runs her hand through her hair, carelessly disheveling it.

It’s been three days and five or six hours (give or take) since Myka last touched Helena and though she rolls her eyes at the knowing smirk on the other woman’s face, she reaches out to hook her finger between the buttons of H.G.’s blouse and tug her closer.

“Congratulations, Agent Wells,” Myka murmurs, shutting up any cheeky reply with a soft kiss.

Ten years and Helena’s mouth, soft and warm and _wicked_ beneath her own hasn’t gotten any less wonderful. The energy that crackled between them like a Tesla beam when they first met has been tempered by time and safety, but Myka feels heat stain her cheeks and she still hisses when Helena nips at her lower lip.

A decade of being together, however, means that the back seat of the SUV is less appealing than the amazing mattress they have at home.

“Welcome home,” Myka says with one last soft kiss before pulling away and shifting the car into drive.

Helena doesn’t say anything, just rests her hand on Myka’s thigh and leans back in the seat with a sigh.

~*~

Before the Warehouse, Myka thought she knew winters. Growing up in Colorado she was no stranger to snow, but as she’s learned, there is winter and there is _winter._ South Dakota offers the latter. Fortunately, the roads are still clear and the snow is dry, wind strong enough that it’s brushing flurries off the asphalt before they can build too high.  Myka pushes the speed limit. Not reckless, but there's a pull in her chest, a need to have the miles behind her that goads her out of Rapid City. 

Once out of town and headed east, though, the streetlights grow sparse and stop, the world narrowing down to the width of the headlights, angular beams cutting through the night. The snow eases somewhat after half an hour and gradually, Myka's shoulders relax, her fingers easing up on the wheel. There’s something about night drives – a silence, an emptiness to the world – everything falls away but the road. Time starts to lose meaning with no landmarks but the white lines barely visible through the dancing snow. Helena’s hand rests, palm up, on the console between them and Myka takes it, keeps her eyes on the road, and settles in for the trip, the warmth of the hand in hers an anchor in this world of ever-shifting white and cold.

Many a fond memory has grown from night drives all over the country - wandering conversations with Claudia, playful arguments with Pete, debates over music with Steve. Leena’s soft singing. And Helena, well,

Many of _those_ memories are tinged with a suggestive, impatient heat, strong enough to make Myka lick her lips, shifting in her seat until she pushes the memories away, swallowing harshly. 

_Honestly, Bering._

Distraction is a price she can ill afford, especially tonight. 

Myka glances at her passenger. Helena’s bundled jacket forms a makeshift pillow between her cheek and the window and in the soft green glow of the dashboard, the way Helena’s lashes break over her cheeks is just visible. Her lips are slightly parted, breathing steady and slow, her sleep better in the car or on a plane than almost anywhere except with Myka’s arms around her.

“The inevitability of travel,” she’d once told Myka, her voice light. The familiar shadow in her eyes, though, the way her smile fell crooked – told Myka it was better not to ask. Years later Myka thinks she understands. There’s a peace to journeying, to giving yourself up to being in between. To simply letting go and trusting another to take the wheel, your fate in their hands until you reach your destination.

It’s possible that’s why Myka likes driving so much…

Outside the wind picks up, swirling the snow in waves the car cuts through like a ship, ever onward. 

It still strikes Myka at the oddest moments what her life has become. That somehow the young woman who never felt like she was good enough - who spent her entire life striving forsomething more, something better, something  _enough,_ has found it all in the South Dakota badlands, in a warehouse full of endless wonder and a cozy bed and breakfast with the people who have become her family.  She's still close with her mother of course, and she calls her father regularly, even talks to Tracy when her sister isn't off doing....whatever it is she does, but they have become her relatives. 

Her _family_ lives at Leena's and tomorrow, she gets to wake up to Claudia and Steve's bickering, to Pete shoving food in his face and Kelly rolling her eyes at him, to Artie's grumping and Leena's laughter. To Helena - emotion dancing in dark eyes and the almost child-like delight she takes in presents even if sometimes there's a sadness to her smile. 

The woman searching for a future and the woman searching for a purpose and somehow they've found what they needed in each other. Myka's never been much of a believer but she sends her silent thanks out into the dark, windy night to whom or whatever might be listening, gratitude carried away with the ceaseless hum of tires on the road, taking her home. 

 _Home._ Just in time for Christmas. 

 

~*~

 

Pulling into the driveway of the B&B, she almost hates to wake Helena but Myka's muscles are heavy with exhaustion and bed is calling her bones. She turns the key to kill the engine and in the silence reaches over to stroke Helena’s cheek. Bleary dark eyes and a soft smile greet her.  How a woman as deadly as H.G. Wells manages to look adorable and sleep rumpled, Myka will never know but she does.  Squinting, Helena turns to look out the window. The B&B is all lit up, golden light from the porch spilling across a snow covered lawn and Christmas lights around the gutters twinkle through the soft falling snow, drops of rainbow against glittering white. In the giant picture window a massive noble fir gleams with its own sets of lights and Myka can only imagine the pile of (more or less) well-wrapped presents beneath it. 

“We’re home.” It’s not a question, not after all these years, but even now there’s a soft awe to Helena’s voice, a relief she never quite loses at having a place to welcome her back.  Myka takes her hand and squeezes.

“I’ll grab the artifact and put it in the safe if you want to hop in the shower first?” The look of gratitude Helena throws her makes Myka laugh.

They dash through the snow not quite like children, but with the cold nipping at their necks and cheeks enough to hurry their steps.  Helena slips through the door first, removing boots and coat and shaking her hair out before disappearing upstairs. Myka follows slower, stowing the artifact in the temporary safe and then wandering into the dimly lit kitchen. Finding Leena seated at the table, a mug of tea in one hand and a book in the other isn't much of a surprise even if makes her heart ache. Her smile when Myka kisses the top of her head on the way to the refrigerator is tired but not pained, though, and Myka feels the tightness in her chest ease. Whatever's keeping Leena up tonight, she's coping. “Do you need company?” She asks anyway, pouring herself a glass of water. Myka’s not really surprised when Leena just shakes her head.

“It’s just the usual and I didn’t want to disturb Claudia. I’m headed to bed soon. I’m glad you’re back.”

Myka doesn’t ask for an elaboration, doesn’t push Leena to talk. They all have things that haunt them at night, memories that come in the dark, quiet hours and keep sleep at bay. It’s rare these days, but it still happens and Myka knows what 'the usual'  is. Coming back from the dead isn't easy.

She won’t be surprised tomorrow when Abigail 'just happens' to drop by. 

“Sweet dreams,” she wishes Leena, squeezing a cotton-covered shoulder on the way out the door. She passes Claudia on the way up the stairs and the two exchange a wordless hug before parting, Claudia to collect Leena and coax her back to bed, Myka to her bedroom where a freshly showered Helena is pulling a t-shirt over her head. Myka glimpses the pale expanse of Helena’s back, the line of her spine and shifting muscle before it’s covered by black fabric. Another time, without the long drive weighing her down and Myka would cross the room, slipping her hands under soft fabric to caress softer skin. Even now the sense memory of the shape of Helena’s breasts in her palms, their soft weight, the hardness of her nipples…

Myka blinks, returns to the present smiling.

“I saw that look, Agent Bering,” Helena purrs from across the room.

“And neither of us are in any condition to do anything about it,” Myka teases back, stripping quickly and pulling on a tank top.

“No, neither of us are as young as we used to be, are we,” Helena replies softly, slipping into bed.

Myka joins her, switching off the bedside lamp, dousing the room in soft grey darkness. Bits of colored light bleed through the curtains, just enough that Myka can make out the outline of Helena’s face before it vanishes and Myka’s presented with dark hair, Helena rolling onto her side. Scooting forward, Myka presses her body against Helena’s, both of them sighing softly at the feel, the way they fit together, knees to hips to Myka's breasts against Helena's back and Myka’s arm draped over Helena’s hip. Helena brushes her fingers across the back of Myka’s hand and its good - like walking through the door of the B&B, this is home, this - Helena in her arms -  where Myka can finally settle and be  _content._

“You don’t sound entirely happy about that,” Myka offers softly, nuzzling the skin where Helena’s shirt has fallen away from her shoulder. She almost doesn’t expect an answer and so the way Helena goes quiet in her embrace catches her off guard. Myka knows that stillness, knows where Helena’s mind goes when her body comes to rest like that so she waits, knowing silence is all she has to offer sometimes.  The silence stretches, not uncomfortable but heavy, only the soft rush of snow against the window to counterpoint their breathing.

“Truthfully, I never thought to live so long,” Helena finally replies.

The past is a scar both of them will always bear – even now that untouchable space between Myka’s ribs aches – but it’s one they’ve both _survived_. “It might be selfish, but I'm very glad you did,” Myka whispers, tightening her hold and taking comfort from the rise and fall of Helena’s ribs below her palm.

In her arms, Helena shifts, rolling over to face her. Sight accustomed to the darkness, Myka can see her features now even if Helena’s eyes are nothing but shadows. The soft curve of her lips though, the way those eyes crinkle at the corners, her smile is free of pain, if soft. “As am I,” Helena says.

She kisses Myka softly, sweetly, the slow unhurried press of lips and warmth of her mouth a silent affirmation, an agreement, a promise. Helena kisses like the snow falls outside, gentle and all-encompassing until Myka's forgotten what they were discussing.

“So very glad,” Helena whispers against her mouth before snuggling down into the covers and Myka’s arms.  “Merry Christmas, Myka.”

“Merry Christmas, Helena.”

Fin.


End file.
